


lighthouse, shine out

by mywordsflyup



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Trespasser, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5688934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, when I told you I’d follow you to the end of the world, I didn’t think you’d take me quite so literally, amatus.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Byacolate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/gifts).



> For Byacolate who prompted me to write something for Adaarian for "anticipation".

The ship makes it way through the dark sea, the warm lights of the town the only fixed point ahead. Heavy ice floes are pushed aside by the bow, the sharp cracking the only sound in the darkness. The harbor is almost completely frozen over. One more day and the icebreakers wouldn’t have been able to get through it. 

Standing on deck, with his hands holding on tightly to the ship’s rail, Dorian mutters a silent prayer to the Maker. One more day of this and he might have decided the cold wet grave below was preferable after all. Everything has to be better than the swaying hell of life on deck. Just thinking about it makes his stomach heave. 

The crew around him start moving faster and with purpose the closer they get to land but there is none of the usual shouting or crass joking Dorian has gotten used to on this travels. These men are just as interested in not drawing unnecessary attention as he is - for reasons he doesn’t care to dwell on. They haven’t asked him any questions and even kept the curious glances to a minimum, and he has given them the same courtesy. He paid well for this kind of anonymity after all.

They find their spot at the landing stage without problems despite the darkness and the fog that drapes itself over the bay like a heavy blanket. Dorian pays the second half of the agreed-upon fare to the first mate, a shifty-looking man who looks like he sprung straight from the pages of a pirate novel, and leaves the ship to find some steady ground at long last. There is only one other passenger, a dwarf who spent almost the entire journey cleaning and sharpening his daggers and who vanishes into some dark side alley without so much as a word goodbye as soon as they reach the town. Dorian doesn’t mind. He wasn’t really looking forward to the possibility of a knife in his back - not so close to his destination. 

It’s too late for even the last drunken stragglers to be on their way home from the tavern and apart from the odd stray cat, Dorian finds the streets deserted. Nevertheless, he pulls his hood deeper into his face and keeps well away from the main streets which are illuminated by at least a few street lights. The hard-packed snow makes scrunching noises under the soles of his boots and for a moment he worries about footprints. He’s being paranoid. If someone really managed to follow him all this way they certainly wouldn’t need to rely on a few footprints to find him now. 

Still, he cannot help but breathe out a sigh of relief when he spots the the inn on the other end of the street. It’s an unassuming building, marked only by a splintered wooden sign and a small lantern by the door. If he hadn’t been looking for it he might have missed it altogether. He supposes that’s kind of the point. 

He finds his hands are sweaty, despite the cold. Part of it might be the possibility of danger. An ambush perhaps. Nothing he wouldn’t be able to handle with a bit of lightning and a good whack with his staff. The other part is a little bit more difficult to control. The tingling feeling at the back of his neck. The tightness in his chest. 

He knocks. Once, twice. The time that passes until he hears the shuffling of feet on the other side of the door feels like an eternity to him, not just because of the cold slowly but surely creeping through his traveling cloak. The door opens a tiny crack, just wide enough for him to make out the figure of a woman, almost short enough to be a dwarf. The innkeeper, presumably. She looks at him expectantly and makes no move to let him pass. 

There is a secret phrase, he recalls. Something terribly sentimental. He clicks his tongue impatiently while he tries to remember the wording. “Does the lady rest?” 

A heartbeat of silence. Perhaps he got it wrong. Then, a slow wry smile. “She waits, dreaming.” 

The door swings open and he is ushered inside. “And here I thought you’d be content with letting me freeze to death outside.” 

The innkeeper scoffs. “Is it my fault that you arrived this late? That was not part of what I agreed to.” She gives him a look over her shoulders. “Tevinter, eh? Should have guessed.” 

He makes sure the windows are shuttered before he pushes back his hood. He can just hope that his hair isn’t completely disheveled. Judging from the innkeeper’s amused look it has to be a fright but he’s too proud to put the hood back on. Instead, he follows her through the dark taproom, past the bar and up a steep flight of stairs. 

“Go on in,” she says at the top, gesturing towards a door at the end of the hall. “He’s been waiting for three days. Pacing around like a madman.” 

Dorian mutters his thanks - all of a sudden too anxious for anything else. The steps he takes towards the door are too wooden, too slow. Like his legs won’t listen to him anymore. 

He doesn’t bother with knocking. Some small voice in the back of his mind still whispers to him about traps and ambushes and him being way too trusting, but his heart is beating too fast for a different reason altogether. 

The room is small but cozy, with a warm fire crackling in the fireplace and a massive four-poster bed below the window. There is a large armchair in front of the fire, its tall back to the door. The pair of horns peeking out over the top he would have recognized anywhere. 

“You know, when I told you I’d follow you to the end of the world, I didn’t think you’d take me quite so literally, amatus.” 

He has always been of the opinion that a man of Adaar’s size shouldn’t be able to move so quickly and effortlessly. Not that he’s complaining. Certainly not now that he finds himself standing alone one second and wrapped in a tight one-armed embrace the next. 

Maker, the scent of him. Dorian buries his face in the soft fabric of Adaar’s shirt and inhales. Cinnamon and fire and something else - something undeniably Adaar. How he has missed this. 

“Dorian,” Adaar says and cups his face with one hand to take a better look at him. And then again, “Dorian.” As if he can’t quite believe he’s truly here. There are tears in his eyes and Dorian is not surprised by it in the least. Adaar’s broad thumb brushes along Dorian’s cheekbone, endlessly tender. “Are you alright? Has anyone followed you?” 

“You have to be more specific,” he says and leans into Adaar’s touch. “Agents of Fen’Harel? Tevinter spies? Antiva assassins? We are popular men these days, you and I.” He only gets a tiny frown in response and Dorian dislikes how easy it falls into place. “None,” he says quickly. “Everything is fine.” He doesn’t need to know about the little scuffle at the Nevarran border. Not yet, anyway. 

He reaches up, perhaps to smooth out the frown in between his eyebrows but Adaar inhales sharply at the touch. “Your fingers are ice-cold,” he says, half worried and half apologetic. Dorian laughs but when Adaar takes his hands in his (both of them fitting easily into his palm) and breathes warmth into them, his laughter turns breathless. The spell wanders over this fingers and hands, up his arms and shoulders and from there over the rest of his body. He can blame it only partially for the heat rising in his cheeks. 

“Better?” Adaar asks and presses his lips against Dorian’s fingers for a moment. 

Dorian nods and finds himself pulled into another embrace, his body flush against Adaar’s. 

“I've missed you,” Adaar says as if it wasn’t obvious. But Dorian is too tired for quips. Too exhausted to do anything but hold on to the front of Adaar’s shirt and relish his warmth. 

“Will you kiss me then? Or do I need to find another inn for that?” 

He feels Adaar’s laughter more than he hears it but he gives him enough room to look up into his face. Adaar’s smile is almost worth the entire tiresome journey. All the dangers and the cold and time spent on the Waking Sea. The way he finally kisses him makes up for the rest.


	2. Chapter 2

Dorian wakes to an empty spot next to him in the bed and that won’t do at all. He sits up, the thin blanket pulled up almost all the way to his chin against the chill in the room. With the fire burned down to embers, the cold of the night had a chance to creep in as they slept. But when Dorian places a hand on the spot where Adaar should be, he can still feel a bit of his warmth lingering. 

 

Morning light falls in through the dirty windows in streaks. By the light of day, the room looks even shabbier than the night before, furnished with just the bare essentials. The red moth-ridden carpet on the floor tells him this probably used to be the inn’s best room. Perhaps it’s still supposed to be. 

 

At least the sheets are clean. Dorian has stayed in worse places, both before he joined the Inquisition and after leaving it. He knows for certain that Adaar has as well. 

 

He’s about to leave the warm safety of the bed to look for him when the door swings open. Carrying a tray with just one hand gets easier when said hand is as broad as Adaar’s but it still looks precarious, especially when he’s trying to open a door at the same time. Dorian jumps out of bed to relieve him of his burden and is rewarded with a quick kiss.

 

“I was beginning to think you’d left me all alone in this fine establishment,” Dorian says and places the tray on the nightstand before crawling back into bed. 

 

“I thought you could use the sleep.” Adaar starts pouring coffee into two cups and hands one of them to Dorian. 

 

“I did fall asleep regrettably quickly last night, didn’t I?” Dorian inhales the scent of his coffee and sighs. “You never cease to amaze me, amatus. Where did you find coffee here? I would’ve doubted that the locals have ever even heard of it.” 

 

The mattress sinks in a bit when Adaar settles in next to Dorian with his own cup in hand. “I brought it,” he admits with a little smile before taking a sip.

 

“Ah,” Dorian says. “It’s a relief to hear that even the humble Inquisitor cannot do without certain luxuries.” 

 

Adaar watches him over the rim of his cup. “I’ve had to do without a lot of things recently.” 

 

“Is that so?” Dorian nudges him with his foot. “Things you missed more than coffee?” 

 

“Much more. Terribly even, one might say.” 

 

Dorian almost forgot how it feels when Adaar looks at him like that, every ounce of attention on him and still feeling like it’s never quite enough. He quickly takes a sip of coffee, even though it’s almost hot enough to burn his tongue. 

 

The rest of the breakfast is sparse and dreadfully Fereldan, with dark bread and cheese and a couple of hard-boiled eggs. Still, it’s better than anything he had during his passage on the ship and just sharing it with Adaar makes it a worthwhile meal. If only because it reminds him of all the meals they’ve shared in the past. Wine and fruit and Orlesian cakes. Adaar’s fingers sticky as Dorian sucked them into his mouth. His lips tasting of strawberries and honey and the sweetest liquor money could buy. 

 

“Do you miss it sometimes?” Dorian asks as he’s pouring his second cup. “Being Inquisitor? All the comforts that came with it?” 

 

“It wasn’t all that comfortable most of the time, if I remember correctly.” 

 

Dorian laughs. It’s probably true. They must have spent more days on the road than nights in that big luxurious bed in Adaar’s tower. “Perhaps I just prefer remembering the comfortable parts.” 

 

Adaar makes a contemplative noise. They both know he remembers everything. 

 

“I miss the garden,” Adaar says after a moment of silence. “Planting things. Watching them grow.” 

 

“You could still do that. Skyhold is still yours, whenever you choose to go back.”

 

Adaar looks at him. “It’s not the same now.” He doesn’t need to say more. 

 

Dorian gently takes the cup out of his hand and places it on the nightstand with his own. When he leans in and kisses him, Adaar’s lips taste bitter but when he moves to straddle his hips, the familiarity of it is almost overwhelming. He holds on to his shoulders, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt. 

 

Adaar’s broad hand is on his back, holding him close, but he’s suddenly overcome with the feeling that he needs to be closer. He rolls his hips, grinds down against Adaar until he moans into the kiss. Dorian breaks away to catch his breath, his heart beating furiously in his chest like a caged bird.

 

He taps his forehead against Adaar’s, his mouth dry. “It was silly for us to wait until morning.”

 

“You were tired.”

 

“You say that like it’s an excuse.” He rolls his hips again. “Like you couldn’t have roused me from my weariness.” 

 

The breath of Adaar’s laughter is light against his cheek. His hand has wandered underneath the hem of Dorian’s shirt, rucking it up altogether too slowly. Impatiently, Dorian lets go off his shoulders to pull it over his head himself. Adaar ducks his head to kiss the exposed skin of his collarbone. “I think I prefer you awake like this.” 

 

“And I prefer you with significantly less clothes, amatus.” He runs his hands down Adaar’s stomach, feeling the musculature underneath. “If you’d be so kind.” 

 

Undressing each other turns into a thing of frenzy, with every inch of exposed skin making them yearn for more. By the time Adaar flips them and Dorian’s back hits the soft mattress, they’re both naked and both more than half hard already. 

 

“This one’s new,” Dorian says and reaches up to run his finger along a twisted scar on Adaar’s chest. It’s an ugly thing and far too close to Adaar’s heart for his liking. The sight makes something in Dorian’s chest tense up painfully.

 

“Assassin,” Adaar says. “At the Nevarran border.” He presses his thumb against a white mark on Dorian’s left arm. “What about this one?” 

 

“Arrow. Just a grazing shot.” He doesn’t tell him about the poisoned tip and the fever and all the drama that came with it. There’s too much worry in the way Adaar leans down and kisses his scar already. 

 

He’s much more interested in him continuing his way down. 

 

Adaar has always been the more patient of the two of them. Dorian has no illusions about that. It doesn’t make it easier to stay still while Adaar takes his time, worrying each nipple with thumb and tongue and teeth before moving on. By the time he places a soft kiss right next his his bellybutton, Doran is squirming underneath his touch. When he finally scrapes his blunt nails down the trail of hair below, he’s arching off the bed, desperate for more. When he swallows down his cock, it takes all of his restraint not to buck up immediately, holding on to Adaar’s horn with one hand while twisting the other into the bed sheet. 

 

He sighs Adaar’s name and it’s like the first breath after breaking through the water’s surface. 

 

Adaar looks up at him through long lashes and it’s almost too much, almost enough to break him right there and then. How many nights has he dreamed about this, lost himself in memories of this. Adaar kneeling between his legs, his strong hand holding him in place. His mouth stretched around his cock and so much love in his eyes, Dorian's sure he must burn to ashes from the sheer force of it. 

 

He makes a sound, something between gasp and a sob. Adaar knows every inch of his body, every trick to take him apart. Like walking the familiar streets of one’s childhood - never faltering, never stumbling, even in the dark of night. 

 

He can feel himself unraveling. Liquid heat pooling deep in his belly, tightening and aching and pushing him towards the edge. He pulls on Adaar’s horn, not forcefully but determined, as much as his body protests. Adaar releases him with a soft pop, his lips wet and dark. 

 

“Come here,” Dorian says, his voice hoarse. “Kiss me, please.” 

 

Adaar pulls himself up, his own heavy cock dragging against Dorian’s in the most torturous way. He kisses him, slow and languid - licking into his mouth like he wants to devour him. 

 

“Let me,” Adaar says, rolling to his side to be able to take Dorian’s cock in hand. 

 

“No,” Dorian still his hand. “I want to come with you inside me.” He turns his head to place a kiss on the underside of his jaw. “Please, amatus. It’s been too long.” 

 

Adaar has never been one to deny Dorian his wishes. 

 

He takes his time, opening him up one slick finger at a time, carefully watching him for any signs of discomfort. All the times Dorian spend alone in his cold bed with just his memories and own hands to keep him company were nothing compared to this. By the time Adaar gently pushes a third finger into him, he’s a mess, writhing and gasping. He’s not even aware of the tears caught in his lashes until Adaar stills, worry plain on his face. Dorian wipes at his eyes, his hands trembling. 

 

“Don’t you dare stop,” he tells him, when he’s finally able to form words again. “Like you’re not familiar with the concept of tears of joy, you big sentimental fool.” 

 

Adaar blinks for a moment but then smiles before he leans down to kiss him, first on the lips and then on the forehead. Dorian is close to taking matters into his own hands when he finally starts to move again, thrusting his fingers and curling them just so until Dorian arches off the bed with a curse on his lips. 

 

He thinks it’s going to take a lot more coaxing and begging but perhaps there are limits even to Adaar’s patience. Dorian keens when he feels the blunt head of Adaar’s cock pressing against his hole. He looks down between them and watches as Adaar slowly pushes in, inch by inch, agonizingly slow until he fills him up. 

 

“Oh, how I’ve missed you.” Dorian curls his hand around Adaar’s neck. “Please…” 

 

Adaar begins to move, slowly at first but at Dorian’s urging he picks up the pace. Once he’s sure that Dorian can take it, he thrusts into him with full, powerful strokes - each one drawing the most delicious sounds from both of them. 

 

Dorian slings his legs around him, pulling him in closer, deeper. He can feel Adaar trembling above him and for a moment, he thinks he must be closer than he thought. But then Adaar groans, his arm buckling under the weight of him. Dorian wheezes as the weight of his lover presses him into the mattress before he rolls to the side. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Adaar says, panic in his voice. “Are you alright? I’m so sorry!”

 

Dorian takes a deep breath, trying to find his bearings with the sudden loss of Adaar’s weight on top and his cock inside of him. “As much as I appreciate the concern,” he says when he realizes what happened, “I’m not the one whose arm just gave out.” He turns to gently brush his fingers against what is left of Adaar’s left arm. “I suppose we’re still not quite used to this?” 

 

Adaar doesn’t flinch at his touch but he doesn’t quite look Dorian in the eyes either. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. 

 

“Don’t be silly,” Dorian says and moves his hand to cup the side of his face. “Who says you have to do all the work anyway? As much as I like the feeling of you on top of me…” He swings one leg over Adaar until he can push him on his back and straddle him. “Maker knows it’s not the only way.” 

 

Adaar looks up at him, blinking, and then his eyes grow soft. When he places his hand on Dorian’s thigh, it’s still trembling. “I love you,” he says, his voice low and soft. 

 

Dorian smiles and reaches behind him, taking Adaar in hand and enjoying the little gasp it draws from him. It takes almost nothing at all to stroke him back to full hardness and even less to position himself just right. He doesn’t break eye contact as he lowers himself onto Adaar’s cock, so agonizingly slowly that he’s almost a little proud of his own restraint. 

 

It doesn’t last long, now that he sets the pace. He’s not one for delayed gratification, after all. When Adaar moves his hand to pump his cock in time with his thrusts, Dorian topples over the edge with a hoarse shout, striping Adaar’s stomach and chest with his spend. Adaar follows soon after, groaning as he bucks up into him. 

 

Dorian collapses on top of him, for the moment not caring about the mess. He’ll have to move soon enough. For now he just wants to catch his breath while listening to Adaar’s heart beating furiously underneath him while his hand rests on the small of his back, warm and reassuring. 

 

“I can’t do it anymore,” Dorian says, brave with his face tucked into the crook of Adaar’s neck. “Go for so long without you.” 

 

He feels Adaar’s stiffen underneath him, just for a heartbeat or two. Part of him almost expects him to say all the things he’s told himself over the last few months. That it was his own decision to go to Tevinter without him. That Adaar offered to go with him and Dorian still left him behind. That he has only himself to blame for all the lonely nights and all the heartache. 

 

But of course he doesn’t say any of these things. Instead he pulls him closer and presses a kiss into his hair. “We’ll find a way. We always do.”

 

And Dorian chooses to believe him. Just for now. Just for a little while longer. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Mree's song "Lighthouse".
> 
> You can also follow my [tumblr](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com) if you're interested.


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